


The Part Where You Missed It

by dustjacketduck



Category: Knights of the Borrowed Dark Series - Dave Rudden
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denizen trying to cope with trauma and grief, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Major Spoilers, Post-Book One and Pre-Book Two, mentions of the other horrible things that happened at the end of book one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustjacketduck/pseuds/dustjacketduck
Summary: Denizen Hardwick knows who he is now; for the first time in his life, he has a family and a real home. But, of course, nothing is that simple. Vivian still won’t open up to him, and feelings are so often a painful burden to carry.As Denizen begins his new life of Knighthood, he finds challenge and triumph lurking around every turn--both in the world and in himself.Takes place in the six months between Knights of the Borrowed Dark and The Forever Court; massive spoilers for book one.





	1. Chapter 1

Denizen Hardwick’s home was spacious and candle-lit and quiet.

A few days ago, while Vivian attempted to teach Simon to draw on his power, Denizen, Abigail, and Darcie had replaced the candles. That was about all that had been fixed, though. Wallpaper, fluttering in a ghostly wind, sagged off walls; claw marks traced ripped paths through floors, ceilings, doors; the floor was stained with dust and wax and black oil, and, in some places, something Denizen really hoped wasn’t blood.

But--lucky for the others, he supposed--Denizen liked cleaning, so here he was with a broom and a dustpan, and a bucket with every other cleaning supply he could find in the house.

The chandelier had once hung from the ceiling, glorious and sparkling, but now, it just moped forlornly in the corner. His mother had moved it so they could walk in the foyer, and Denizen was glad. He needed to actually reach the floor, and there was no way his tiny, scrawny thirteen-year-old body would be able to even _budge_ something that big and made of iron.

He put his bucket down and started sweeping.

Cleaning was nice. It was odd, but it relaxed him. After a while, cleaning became mindless, and he could let himself get lost in his own little world or avoid it entirely. And right now, he _really_ wanted to avoid both reality and everything his head kept telling him. So he zoned out, focusing on the cool quiet of Seraphim Row, the warmth of candles, the scent of dust, and the whisper of the broom against the floor.

But peace only lasts so long in a house with four teenagers, even one as big as this.

“Hey, didn’t we decide we were all going to clean together?”

Abigail Falx slowly descended the grand (and slightly chipped) staircase, carefully trying to not pitch forward as she simultaneously attempted to tie her hair up in a ponytail.

Denizen looked down. “No. I said I’d do it, and you insisted that you and Darcie were helping. Which, as I explained, you don’t need to do. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s _fine_.”

By then, she’d spotted his cleaning bucket and was peering into it intently. “Denizen, this place is enormous,” she said. “That’s ridiculous. Are you crazy? Wait, no, don’t answer that.”

“I like stress-cleaning,” he mumbled, feeling the heat rise to his face. “Or… something like that.” It wasn’t really _stress_. Grief-cleaning? Avoiding-reality-cleaning?

She fixed him with her striking stare, and his stomach sank as he realized there was no way out of this. Her next words were painfully inevitable: “Well, I’m going to help you anyway.” She _hmm_ ed, then reached into the bucket and withdrew the second broom. Well. It had been snapped in half, rendering it more of a half-broom, actually, which gave her a little giggle.

He worked, and she worked, and he was very pointedly not talking to her. It reminded him vaguely of doing the dishes shortly after they’d met.

That seemed so long ago.

“So… Okay, I’m really, _really_ sorry for this, and you totally don’t have to answer if you don’t want to because I get that it’s personal, but the explanation I got was really rushed and I kinda want to clarify some things, and I’m not sure Vivian would answer and I don’t want to say anything weird to her, or--”

Denizen gave her a tiny little glare. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

“So you’re _Vivian Hardwick’s_ son?”

 _Oh no._ “Em… yeah.”

“Cool. Right. And she put you in an orphanage so she could go on a revenge crusade.”

“Yep.”

“And this is all because there was a trio of ancient Tenebrous with a vendetta against your family.”

He flinched. “Pretty much. I think. Remember that I didn’t get a great explanation either.”

Abigail was concealing a smile in her hoodie, but after a moment, the mirth seemed to dry out and she stared at the floor. Denizen still had trouble reading her expressions, but that looked like… shame, almost.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I got distracted, I didn’t mean to turn that to… to make it about…” She let out a strange noise, then a sigh. “That’s awful. All of it. Seriously.”

Had anyone else said that, it might have sounded insincere, but Abigail was always so earnest.

“I know.” _I lived it._

Abigail was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry about that. Again. You can ask me prying questions about my family now, if you want. I mean, we don’t have any dirt like that--I think? God, I hope not--but still.”

“No, thank you,” he said. “Also, yeah, please never do that again.”

She grinned, and it was brighter than candle flame.

They cleaned for about an hour more, before Abigail got up, tossed her half-broom, and stretched. “I’m bored,” she said. “And hungry.”

It was so typically Abigail that Denizen’s lips quirked up a bit. “Surprise, and surprise.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Hey, do you wanna go into Dublin?” she asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“I dunno. We could go get something to eat, or just walk around. Maybe Darcie would want to come, or Simon, if he’s free.”

“No, I mean what is this?”

She stared him dead in the eyes, and he squirmed under that gaze. “Denizen Hardwick, you have been holing yourself up since that night. And yes, we’ve established that you’re the grumpiest thirteen-year-old in the world, but what happened isn’t going to just go away. So I want you to stop wallowing and spend an afternoon in the sun. I know you’re sad. So is Darcie. So am _I_. Maybe this is a little selfish on my part, too, because Vivian is training with Simon, Jack’s hurt, Grey’s… well... yeah, I have no one to train with. And, as you just noted, I get bored and hungry very easily. I want to do something fun. Just once. Please.”

Something twisted painfully in Denizen’s chest.

“I could teach you some sword basics,” she offered after he’d stayed quiet for too long, “or how to use a crossbow, or _something_.”

And suddenly, everything she was asking clicked. Like him, Abigail had never had friends. But while he had distanced himself from people for fear of being hurt, she’d simply never stayed in one place long enough to keep any. _I’m pretty sure this is the longest conversation I’ve had with someone my own age._

He had trouble imagining friendly, talkative Abigail being lonely. She was a blinding ball of energy--bright and talented and chatty, and with no apparent sense of personal space--who seemed to feed off of the presence of other people.

He suddenly felt very, very defensive on her behalf.

“Okay,” he said, and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been two days before Denizen was mentally ready to explain everything to Simon. He just needed the basics, but Denizen had… a lot more to process. Truth be told, Denizen still hadn’t really wanted to talk to anyone.

But he’d only been given half an explanation, and wanted to give his best friend better.

“So… em… where should I start? Where do you _want_ me to start?”

Simon, still wide-eyed and antsy, stared at him. “The Clockwork Three,” he said eventually. “What were they?”

“Tenebrous. Well, that’s what we call them. They’re confusing, which I think you know, but basically, they’re monsters from a different dimension--the Tenebrae, we call it; Tenebrous, Tenebrae, yeah?--that cross over into our world. And they do stuff. Like… destroy things. And eat people.”

Denizen thought for a moment, then added, “Oh, and shadows are doors. I don’t quite understand that, but it’s how they get over here.”

Simon shivered. Denizen wanted to as well.

His friend dared another question, then another and another. Questions about his power, about the Cost, about Cants, about Knights, and so many about Tenebrous. Denizen tried to answer them with as much detail as he could, but he was so new and couldn’t help feeling that his answers were painfully inadequate. The only exception was about the Cants, of course, but Denizen didn’t want to give them an opening to get into his head.

Finally, Simon’s flood of questions slowed down to a trickle, then stopped, leaving the boy staring hollowly down at his hands.

“This is… this should sound crazy. It doesn’t. I don’t know… how should I feel about this?”

Denizen reached across the table to lay a gentle hand on his arm. He flinched, and Denizen mentally cursed himself for forgetting.

“I don’t know. I’m just… I’m still so glad you’re okay. And that you’re one of us. I really, really missed you.”

Simon had offered a weak smile.

* * *

 

It was four-thirty in the afternoon, and Darcie was trying to teach Abigail to cook. It was Darcie’s night for it, but, ever since she’s convinced Denizen to go into the city with her, Abigail had been more assertive in roping people into doing things with her.

Just little things. _Every day._

And, while she could likely disassemble and reassemble a crossbow in her sleep, she did not have a natural knack for whipping together a meal.

Denizen hovered awkwardly in the doorway. He wished someone would teach _him_ how to cook. _If you asked, I’m sure Darcie would,_ a part of him said. He hated logic sometimes.

Darcie waved. He waved back.

“Hey, would either of you happen to know where Vivian is?” he asked.

Darcie just shrugged, but Abigail piped up. “Oh, she’s talking to the Palatine.”

Denizen sighed in disappointment. “Of course she is. Because she’s always busy doing something.”

Abigail cocked her head. “Well, yeah. This is important.”

 _Because what_ isn’t _more important than talking to your son?_ he thought, but didn’t actually say, because she wouldn’t get it, and also had a point.

“Right. Thanks anyway,” he said. Then: “Can I cook with you guys?”

“Yes!” Darcie said, gesturing him over with a spoon, already scrambling to catch him up on their progress.

The Neophytes ended up eating what they'd made on their own.

Jack was on bedrest, so they had to bring his food to him, and Simon came down when Denizen got him; Vivian did whatever she wanted, as was normal for her, and with Grey it was a toss-up.

So tonight, they were alone.

Simon had eaten ravenously every night since he’d gotten to Seraphim Row. “This is great,” he said, voice still hoarse. “Vivian’s really missing out.”

“You say that about everything,” Abigail said.

“Yes, I suppose I do. But, then again, a diet of stale bread does take a number on one’s taste buds.”

Abigail laughed. So did Denizen. He was beyond happy to see his best friend talking and joking and smiling again. He wasn’t naive enough to think Simon would ever be able to just shake his experiences off completely, but maybe things would be okay for him, eventually.

Simon, being the only one who hadn’t at least contributed to the making of dinner, was placed on cleaning detail. He sighed, rolling up his already ill-fitting sleeves as he filled the sink with water. The girls were chatting beside him, but Denizen didn’t want to be a bother, so he only half-listened, and, for lack of anything better to do, just kind of stared into space.

His trance was soon broken, however, by Vivian storming into the room. And given the expression of absolute fury on her face, that expression may as well have been literal. She stalked over to the sink and stared down at Simon, who squirmed uncomfortably.

“Simon,” she snapped, “I’m taking over dish duty. You are dismissed. All of you.”

The Neophytes didn’t need to be told twice. As they scuttled out of the room, Denizen thought he heard Abigail snicker and whisper, “Maybe she stress-cleans too.”

“What just happened?” Simon practically squeaked once they were a safe distance away from Vivian Hardwick.

“I have absolutely no idea,” said Denizen, at the same time Abigail said, “Maybe something didn’t go well with the Palatine.”

“The Palatine… that’s the Order’s leader, right?”

“Yep,” said Abigail. “Denizen here saved the world, so the Malleus has to communicate that to the rest of the Order.” She frowned. “A lot, apparently. She seems to be talking  to them a lot, I mean.”

“We didn't know about Mercy before,” Darcie added. “Among… other things.”

Denizen barely heard the last part. He was too busy worrying about the fact that he could actually _feel_ himself reddening. Simon was side-eying him, and mouthed _Are you okay?_

 _Yeah,_ Denizen mouthed back.

* * *

 

“Denizen. Denizen, _wake up_.”

He whimpered unhappily and rolled over.

“I’m serious, _please_ wake up.”

He was being shaken. Quite violently, actually, though the speaker's voice was soft. _The speaker…_

Simon.

Denizen opened his eyes. Simon let out a breath and relaxed, slumping down as he knelt next to Denizen.

“Yeah?” Denizen's voice was slow and groggy with sleep. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Simon said quickly. “You just… seemed upset. Like you were--like you were having a nightmare. Or something.”

Slowly, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I think I might have been. I get those now. Clocks, _ticking_ …” He yawned.

“I didn't know you to have dreams, let alone nightmares.”

“It's something new. Hey, why were you even up? I feel like it's like one in the morning or something obscene like that.”

Simon snickered. “Obscene.”

“Y’know what? Shaddup.”

He did, for a tiny while. “Same for me,” he said finally. “Nightmares.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“When I opened my eyes, you were there, and you looked so troubled, and for an awful minute it looked like how everyone was back at Crosscaper. I kinda freaked out a little, I guess. Sorry for waking you. I just had to see that you were okay.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Simon shrugged.

Suddenly, something occurred to Denizen. “Did you get your pen?” Worry edged at his voice.

“What?”

“I know you were mostly just trying to survive, but your mother’s pen. Did you get it? I'll take you back there if you didn't.”

There was a pause. “It doesn't matter,” Simon said. “And for the record, yeah, I did.”

“Cool.” Denizen grinned and laid back down. “Hey, Simon?”

“Mmm?”

“You can always wake me if you're having nightmares. It's fine. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

“Goodnight.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid-morning when they came and took Grey away.

There had been no warning--not for Denizen, or Darcie, or Abigail, though the fact that Vivian was expecting it was obvious. And she just stood there, face as expressionless as it had been when she had fought him, and let it happen. Then again, so did Denizen. He didn't know what he should do, so he did nothing. He could barely manage to utter a goodbye through whatever was caught in his throat.

It registered that Darcie was beside him. She was crying. Of course; she'd known him longer, been closer, and had felt his kindness wherever he could give it. And she had sent him to Rathláth.

He felt sick.

(He hadn't told her. She blamed herself enough for what happened there already.)

But, right now, there was really only one thought going through his head: Why?

_People disappear all the time._

Why had the Three taken _him_ for their plans? Why couldn't they have just built their damned cage by themselves? They were terrible, misery-loving monsters, but that didn't make anything better.

They had still broken his only friends.

It was sunny, but bitingly cold, and Denizen felt none of it. He just stared straight ahead until a brush of wind tugged at his eyes, making them water. He wiped at them with a sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one at all.

Darcie buried her face in his shoulder, and her sobs echoed through him.

Sometime later, he managed to numbly make his way to his bedroom, collapse on the bed, and sob himself.

There weren't even any tears at first, but his body shook as he tried to draw breath through hiccupping gasps. Then there was the sound of his bed creaking slightly, and arms around him--long, skinny, _warm_ arms--and the tears came.

“Den…”

He leaned into his best friend.

“I don't…” Simon trailed off, audibly swallowed, and said, “I didn't know him, and I don't really know what he meant to you, but I'm here if there's anything I can do. If you need to talk, or…”

That's what best friends were for. Denizen knew that. But, still…

What he meant to say was, _I don't want to talk_. What he said was entirely different.

“It was different with you. I _knew_ you. But everyone else--everyone else is a stranger, and I've always been so afraid to let people in because… hell, it might not even be intentional, but what if they hurt me? Trust is so fragile, and… untrustworthy.”

Denizen sniffed and laughed bitterly, gripping his comforter in hands balling into fists. “And then I do. Finally, I let someone in who isn't you, and I--I didn't even try. I didn't let it happen, or even realize it, he was just suddenly _there_ . And for a while it's great, but then he shoots my mother and holds a gun to my head and all I can think is that I was _right_. Everything I ever feared about making friends came true.

“And it's terrible because I can't stop caring. I tried for a while. He did these horrible things, and I know it wasn't really his fault, but I honestly don't care because I don't care what happened, I just _want him back_ . This is stupid, but as long as he was here, I could keep believing… I could keep _pretending_ … that everything would be okay. That one day he would be able to go back to being who he was before…”

His voice shattered. All the sobs he'd been fighting to stall, to contain, rushed up through him, washing away anything else he might have said.

_Stop being broken._

He wished he could just disappear, too.

* * *

 

Denizen couldn’t cry. He picked at the hem of his black coat and stared pointedly at the ground, but he couldn’t cry. It was November, and bitterly cold, which gave him an excuse to bury his face in his scarf.

Maybe he should be crying. Maybe not. He didn’t know. All he knew was that his eyes burned, and he felt a hollow ache in his chest that he had seventy-eight ways to fill. Anger was easier to deal with the alternative. He still felt terrible about that.

He’d never been to a funeral before, but it was always raining at them in books and movies, which was thematically appropriate, but still a hell of a coincidence. It had to rain sometime, though, he guessed.

He shook those thoughts away. Now was not the time to be getting distracted thinking about what happened in books. That would just make him feel worse.

It was a small, private service, but it was a funeral nonetheless.

It was funny. When he’d first come to Seraphim Row, Denizen had been told that Knights die in shadows, alone and unmourned. But, he was beginning to see, that wasn’t true.

Sure, the public would never know how they died, or maybe even _that_ they died, but that didn’t mean no one cared. D’Aubigny had been with her husband when she’d been killed, and he’d held her until they had both been found.

And now, they were holding a funeral for her.

Jack was crying. So was Darcie, and Abigail, though her tears were silent. Vivian looked as impassive as always, which made Denizen's skin prickle and his insides burn with a ghost of the fire he fought to tamp down.

These were her _comrades_ . Her friends. People she had fought alongside for eight years. Didn't their pain--didn't _they_ \--mean anything to her?

Denizen gripped Simon’s arm so hard that he hissed, softly through his teeth.

Everything felt distant, like he wasn’t quite there, but simultaneously he felt everything with painful truth. Surreal, like a dream, not that he had much experience with those. Still, he stumbled through the service in a sort of daze, with Simon keeping him grounded.

_This is my fault._

He swallowed. It was _his_ family that the Three were after, _him_ that they wanted, and everyone else got swept up in that. It wasn’t fair.

_This is my fault._

* * *

Vivian died repeatedly in Denizen’s dreams.

Sometimes, he re-lived that night at Crosscaper in vivid detail--the shrieking loudness of the gunshot, the shock in her eyes, the weight of her body as she collapsed, all the blood, _so much of it_. But other times his mind would make up new scenarios. A car accident, a fire.

Once, Denizen himself held the gun.

He would wake up shaking, biting his comforter so he wouldn't cry out. And when he closed his eyes again, all he could see was the darkness down the barrel of a gun.

That night, he had faced monsters. Sadistic horrors of hunger and hate, who had hurt everyone Denizen cared about. They should be the scariest part of what had happened.

But they weren't. What scared him more were the human reactions around him. Abigail’s terror. Darcie’s silent sorrow. The way Simon had hidden from even his best friend. Vivian’s apathy.

Grey.

His smile had been shattered. He'd torn a piece of his skin out without so much as flinching. He had been so desperate and hopeless and tortured that he truly believed the only way to save the Hardwicks was to kill them.

Denizen swallowed.

It was terrible. Here he was, a few days after Corinne D’Aubigny’s funeral, mourning someone else. Someone who wasn't even dead. It was so, _so_ selfish, but he couldn't get himself to stop.

He rolled over and buried his head in his pillow, but it was no use. Simon tossed and turned fitfully in his own bed, lost in nightmares of his own. He wondered when it would end, if it would end. He liked it better when he rarely dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter was "Funeral" so I just decided to shove all of the angst into it.


End file.
